


heat, light and flame (that’s a poem)

by anupturnedboat



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Drunken Kissing, Gen, Implied Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Octavia and Lincoln Get Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:34:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3872266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anupturnedboat/pseuds/anupturnedboat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wick and Raven Post S2</p><p>Models and simulations are actual things that happen.  And Raven Reyes is all combustion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	heat, light and flame (that’s a poem)

On the Ark, days, and the time ticking within them were an incongruous beat. Wick remembers floating through the motions, a small cog, turning the larger cogs that allowed them all to live.

But schematics designed to resemble life were completely different when applied to soil, and roots, and water and air so real it could choke you up.

That is what he learns after the Ark. 

He survives not just the crash, but the seriously fucked up life on the ground too - so far anyway. Surprising, or maybe not, it’s hard to wonder about fate with Raven so near.

He studies her, but only when she is too immersed in gears and mismatched components to notice. He can’t help think how here on the ground everything has weight. Models and simulations are actual things that happen. And Raven Reyes is all combustion.

That is something he knows in secret.

Today she is a turbulent flame. Sparking in and out until the sun begins to set, and they are summoned to the glade where most of their camp and hundreds of grounders stand divided by a thin strip of trampled grass. On the Ark, there had been plenty of people who were married. But no one his age still bought into such antiquated rituals. So, Wick had never actually been to a wedding ceremony, let alone one like this.

Octavia wears complicated braids in her hair. Bellamy and Clarke look uncomfortable standing as her two witnesses. He doesn’t understand most of the words that make up the complex ritual that will bind their fates to that of the grounders forever. Raven elbows him in the ribs, hard, when he starts fidgeting.

Later, mostly everyone is drunk, and he finds himself trying to make conversation with Blake, whose eyes keep drifting across plumes of smoke towards the Chancellor’s newly returned daughter. He’s heading towards smashed, so he figures what the hell. “Good luck with that buddy,” he says clapping a hand on Blake’s shoulder. Raven takes his cup out of his hand and pulls him away before he can say anything more that might get his ass kicked.

He knows the drill. There are a lot of people around, so he doesn’t touch her. Even though her hair is down, and she is so, so pretty.

Instead, he thinks about molecules, and atoms and electrons, and how everything here on the ground is so tangibly charged. There is poetry to things like that. Not that he’s a poet. But it’s something to file away, save to say when he’s trying to make her smile.

She’s not smiling now.

But there is a flicker of a flame in the way she is looking at him. So he meets her halfway. And he knows, just knows she’s going to be pissed tomorrow.

But tomorrow is another day he thinks fuzzily as she stretches up towards him, her brace hitting his knee cap. Her hand is on his heart, and he thinks she must feel its palpable beat through his shirt and his traitorous pulse on his lips. _Combustion creates heat and light_ ; he thinks, his fingers in her hair. And he wonders how he can make such technical words prettier because maybe he is a poet after all.


End file.
